PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford
Looking at the bare stem in Mary’s hand, her five year old sister asked “Where are the petals, Mary.”
“Last night there was a heavy storm, I think the wind blew them away.”
Staring at the bare stem she went back to last night, just before the storm when she had plucked the flower and taken it to her room, all night, she had removed each petal and murmured, “He loves me” , “he loves me not”, alternately to see where the petals would end, so that she could judge whether William spoke to her because he really wanted the pencil or …….
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